


All that's good and right

by EllaStorm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Puppies, Snuggling, Unicorns, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a tiny ficlet about Dean snuggling Sam to warm him up, and Sam returning the favour eight years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All that's good and right

It was freezing. The heating didn’t work, the blankets were too thin and the windows were nowhere near thick enough to keep the bone-chilling coldness of the Midwestern winter out of the room. Sam shifted on his bed, curling in on himself, and wondered for the hundredth time whether he should just get up and crawl into his brother’s bed. Dean was always warmer, maybe because of all those muscles Sam’s fourteen-year-old body was still missing; and with him he’d probably be able to keep the cold away long enough for some decent sleep. Sam moved his feet to get rid of the slowly spreading numbness there, bit his lip and let his thoughts circle back to the same conclusion he had drawn so many times before in the last few hours: No.

He and Dean hadn’t slept in the same bed for four years, and Sam really didn’t want to be the whiny little brat who couldn’t stand some chilly air – he hunted vampires for breakfast, after all. He wouldn’t give anyone, especially his brother (or Dad, for that matter) the opportunity to mock him for such a clear display of weakness. Sam would stay in his own bed. Never mind how cold it got in there.

He had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard the rustling of the blankets nearby, or the soft sound of naked feet on wood. Sam felt, however, the warmth of a body carefully sliding under the covers beside him, and started.

“Make some room there, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was gruff and deep. “Damn, you’re cold.”

“’M not”, Sam protested, but his own rattling teeth betrayed him.

“Yeah. Definitely. Not cold at all.”

It sounded almost soft, endearing, and Sam relaxed a little and let his brother pull him closer, until Dean’s warm skin blanketed his back. His brother’s calloused, gun-worn hands found Sam’s ice-cold fingers, grasping them, rubbing them, until the numbness subsided, while his legs tangled with Sam’s feet. They lay silently for a while, and Sam found himself growing pleasantly sleepy, with Dean all around him, breathing into his hair and giving off warmth and comfort like a radiator.

“Next time, Sammy, you gotta tell me, when you’re cold, okay?”

Sam took a few seconds. “Didn’t want to be, you know – a sissy.” The response was sheepish, and Sam couldn’t help but feel a little stupid for saying it out loud.

Dean chuckled. “You’re as far away from a ‘sissy’ as anyone ever was, Sam. D’you know anybody else in your class that hunts evil monsters in their spare time?”

Sam didn’t have an answer.

“See? Now get some sleep; I don’t want you all grumpy in the morning.”

“Shut up.” Dean chuckled again and pressed even closer, encompassing his brother as closely as possible in his arms.

It only took a few minutes for Sam to fall asleep to Dean’s heartbeat.

 

 

***Eight Years Later***

 

 

When Sam got back from his trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night, tiptoeing over the chilly linoleum of their motel room floor, he heard a suspicious sound from the bed at the window. It was, as he realized a few moments later, a muttered curse. Sam blinked, trying to get his eyes accustomed to the dark, until he could make out his brother’s familiar form under the covers, curled in on himself, blankets pulled tight around him. He couldn’t help but smile a little – in eight years the winters in the Midwest hadn’t become any less icy – before making a decision.

He stepped up to his brother’s bed, pulled the covers partially off him and slipped in. It was definitely a bit more of a squeeze than eight years ago, but that didn’t stop him from plastering himself all over Dean’s back, slinging his arms around him and gripping his brother’s hands to warm them, just like Dean had done it when Sam had been fourteen.

“The Hell are you doing?” Dean demanded; surprise tilting his voice slightly upwards.

“You’re cold”, Sam stated, matter-of-factly, and proceeded to rub warmth into his brother’s skin.

“And you’re crushing me to death with your Sasquatch limbs. Not fourteen anymore, dude.”

“Better crushed than frozen.”

“Easy for you to talk, bitch.”

“Shut up. Jerk. Now get some sleep; I don’t want you all grumpy in the morning.”

Dean was smiling at that, Sam simply knew – and for all his protests, he downright pushed his back into Sam’s chest like a cat against a warm oven. It was comfortable like this, just as comfortable as it had always been the other way ‘round, and now Sam could bury his nose in the bristly spikes of Dean’s hair and breathe him in, trying to remember everything he associated with the scent. It was a lot.

After a while, Dean started snoring softly in his arms, and Sam felt a tiny twinge in his guts. This, he thought, the two of them like this, was everything right and good in this world.

This, he thought, was home.


End file.
